


tomorrow’s ground

by visiblemarket



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Pre-Canon, that's...pretty much all you need to know i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Oh yeah?" Phil says, looking up at him; his eyes burn with a real, defiant challenge. Clint sucks in a shaking breath, and Phil smiles, but not that soft, indulgent smile that's just so </i>Phil<i>, the one Clint's used to getting in this context; this is something new, feral and </i>sharp<i>; this is Agent Coulson about to do his absolute worst. "So what are you going to do about it, </i>Barton<i>?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	tomorrow’s ground

**Author's Note:**

> [phlintscones](http://phlintscones.tumblr.com/) kept posting face-fucking gifs and, uh, I'm weak, so this was inevitable really. 
> 
> The fact that I took a desire to write a specific sex act and turned it into... _this_ can be blamed on no one but myself.

"And then you flew in, like _bam_ , and they were like, _what?!_ And you were like, _freeze, motherfuckers_ , and it was so freakin' _awesome!_ "

"I know, Del Rio, I was there." And he hadn't said _freeze, motherfuckers_. For one it's not quite his style, for another, his mouth had been full of plaster from the wall he'd just swung through. No reason to correct Del Rio though: if she's going to be spreading news around about what a badass he is, Clint's got no problem with a few embellishments getting picked up along the way.

"I know, but _man_ , Agent Barton, that was freakin' _awesome_ , like, holy shit, we all thought you'd kicked it, when your comm went out, but then you popped right out and it was, like..."

"Holy shit?"

" _Holy shit_ , sir!" she waves her arms. "Like, so freakin' cool. Like where'd you learn how to do that roll, the was amazing!"

"Circus," Clint says, slowing down as he realizes where they are, whose office they're near.

"Seriously?" Del Rio says, and Clint nods, scanning the hallway. 

"Seriously." And right on cue, a door opens, just a few steps away.

"Agent Barton," Phil says, in _the voice_ , the I _'m not mad I'm disappointed_ voice, the _you're sleeping on the couch tonight_ voice. "I need a minute."

"Yessir," he says, and Phil nods, ducks back inside, and shuts the door.

Del Rio's eyes are wide with surprise. "You in trouble?" 

Clint glances at the shut door. _Oh yeah, he's in trouble_. But he just shrugs, cocky and unconcerned, and Del Rio gives him what he's gonna assume is a _sucks to be you_ punch the arm and strolls off, happily leaving Clint to his fate. _Fangirls_ , he thinks. _So fickle_.

He sighs, squares his shoulders, runs his apology through his head, and opens the door. 

He's barely inside before Phil slams into him, practically rams him back into the door. Clint's instincts are torn between the roar of _threat danger fight_ and the building cascade of _Phil yes fuck Phil Phil Phil_. He catches his breath and Phil kisses it out of him, pins him to the door with the weight of his body as his hands roam every inch of Clint's body they can reach, sliding down the zipper of Clint's protective vest and tracing across Clint's chest and ribs and hips.

Clint's brain knows that this is to make sure he's alive and in one piece, and tries not to make too much out of it.

Clint's dick is not as objective, straining violently against the nanofibers of his too-tight tac suit. He thrusts against Phil's hips and Phil gasps, dragging his lips away from Clint's so he can mouth at Clint's throat, breathless and desperate as he traces Clint's pulse with his tongue. 

"Okay?" he practically growls, and Clint's knees almost buckle.

"Okay," he manages without whimpering, but it's a close thing. 

"What is all of..." Phil runs his caresses the skin behind Clint's ear and Clint shivers. "Is this drywall?”

“Uhh,” Clint reaches back to check; his fingers brush against Phil’s. “Probably?”

“Why?”

Clint puts on his most charming smile. "Couldn't find the door?"

"Clint." Phil sighs, disappointed, but it’s not like that’s stopping him from kissing across Clint's throat. 

"I'm fine. Nothing but—" One of Phil's hands slides around Clint's back and grabs his ass. Clint groans, then continues. "Bruises. Coupla—" Phil bites him, worries the skin between his neck and his shoulder, and Clint can't help himself, he whimpers, lets his head fall back against the door to give Phil better access. 

Phil takes it, following the warm trail of kisses he'd left before teeth and tongue, murmuring fervently against the raw skin of Clint's throat. "Don't you...don't you _ever_ do that...again." 

"I won't, I swear, I won't, I—" and he's not even sure what he's saying, not even sure what Phil’s talking about, but Phil's cupping his face with his hands and _looking_ at him, staring him straight in the eye. 

"Promise me," he says, all soft and sad and gentle, and Clint just melts, just sags against the door and lets himself drown in the Phil's warmth. 

"I promise."

And Phil kisses him again, all-encompassing and slow and just a little messy. Clint kisses him back. Open-mouthed and desperate, sliding his hands under Phil's jacket, around Phil's back. Grabs Phil's ass, digs his fingers into the tight, pert flesh. God, he loves Phil's ass, loves to slide his cock between Phil's cheeks and drive into him. Wants to fuck him, hard, from behind, defiling pristine Super Agent Phil Coulson and making him come all over his neat little desk. 

He groans at the thought, and Phil pulls back. Just a little, just enough that Clint can meet his eyes.

"I wanna..." his hips jerk against Phil's and Phil thrusts right back. "Wanna fuck your ass, Phil, want to bury myself in you till you fucking _come_ , Phil, just from my cock alone, _Jesus_ , Phil, I—" 

And Phil kisses him again, sloppy and rough this time, with teeth scoring Clint's bottom lip. Clint practically forces his tongue down Phil's throat and Phil moans, grabbing Clint's hips and rubbing against him with a few desperate, rapid thrusts. 

He pulls back again. Meets Clint's eyes. Grins. Clint wants to haul him in and kiss him again, it's not fair that he's suddenly so far away. Grabs at Phil's arms, only to have him slip out of his grasp.

"Got a better idea," Phil says, smirking a little around kiss-swollen lips. He shrugs out of his jacket, folds it in half, and lets it drop to the floor in front of him.

Clint blinks at him for a moment. He can't think straight, not with Phil so close, all hot and bothered, cock straining against the docile little confines of his fancy suit pants. It's not until Phil drops to his knees, on the meager cushioning provided by his folded jacket, that Clint gets it.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he says, and Phil grins, winks (the bastard) and leans in.

Clint should look away. Clint should close his eyes. Clint should not watch as Agent Phil Coulson, still mostly pristine in his white shirt and blue-stripped tie, kneels on the clean floor of his perfect office and presses his cheek against the impossibly hard bulge in Clint's pants. Because if he keeps watching that, the way Phil's nuzzling and breathing and stroking at Clint's cock, he's going to come before Phil so much as get his fly open.

Not that Phil seems to be in any kind of hurry to do that. He pressing his thumbs into the curves of Clint's hips, and tracing up along the hard line of Clint's cock with his nose, then mouthing his way back down it, through Clint's pants.

"You're such a fucking _tease_ , Coulson," he groans. 

"Oh yeah?" Phil says, looking up at him; his eyes burn with a real, defiant challenge. Clint sucks in a shaking breath, and Phil smiles, but not that soft, indulgent smile that's just so _Phil_ , the one Clint's used to getting in this context; this is something new, feral and _sharp_ ; this is Agent Coulson about to do his absolute worst. "So what are you going to do about it, _Barton_?"

Clint has no clue what he's going to do about it, actually. All he knows is that Phil is fucking _hot_ like this, hotter than he should be. Not quite possessive, not quite _angry_ , but dangerous, almost. Unpredictable in the best way. If nothing else, Clint doesn't think he'll ever meet anyone else who'll offer a blowjob _defiantly_ , but Phil is capable of all kinds of amazing things, and Clint has long-since stopped being surprised by it.

Phil seems to notice Clint's uncertainty, and he laughs, shaking his head a little, and he’s _Phil _again, amused by Clint, careful with him. He pulls his head back a little, shifts as if he's about to stand again. It's the last thing Clint wants right now and he acts on instinct, twisting his fingers through Phil's short hair and yanking his head back.__

__Phil smirks. "What do you want from me, Barton?"_ _

__Clint hooks his fingers under the knot of Phil's tie, and drags him closer. "Unzip me."_ _

__Phil does, with quick, nimble fingers, and no teasing. Clint's cock springs out, and Phil ducks his head, wraps his lips around the tip, and sucks, _softly_ , and it's _fucking infuriating_ , which is one hundred percent Phil's intention, probably. But he doesn't have time to care about how Phil can play him like a harp, about Phil having been playing him this whole time. He has time for Phil's hot, wet, mouth. _ _

__His fingers are still tangled in Phil's hair and he drags him in, more abruptly than he probably should, but Phil takes it like a champ, swallows him practically all the way down. The muscles in his throat flex around the head of Clint's dick and Clint's hips twitch, desperate to thrust deeper down Phil's throat. Phil swallows again, and Clint hates him, he _hates him_. Pulls Phil's head back, grabs his shoulder to steady himself, and thrusts. _ _

__Phil's only reaction is to shut his eyes, and Clint follows suit, leaning his head back against the door and focusing on the feeling, of the heady, wet warmth of Phil's mouth, of Phil's tongue as it swirls along his shaft, of Phil's throat as it lets Clint in. With each piston of his hips he's further gone, panting and breathless as he drags Phil's slick, yielding mouth back and forth over his cock._ _

__He feels Phil reach for him, tangle his fingers in the tight black shirt he's wearing under his vest, as if trying to hold on to him, as if expecting him to go away. Clint moans because he's past speaking, because he can barely keep his balance, but he wants to say it, wants to make sure Phil knows._ _

__" _Fuck_ ," he manages, which is not good enough at all, and Phil doesn't make things any easier, humming around him, sliding his hands between Clint's thighs to rub at his balls, and it's so fucking _good_ , sending sharp, jolting sparks of pleasure up through Clint's thighs and stomach and chest. He's so close to coming, so close to spilling in Phil's mouth, that he has to look down._ _

__It's almost an out of body experience, like he's watching himself from a distance, his cock sliding in and out from Phil's soft, red lips, his fingers curling around the back of Phil's head, digging into Phil’s scalp as Clint holds him in place. Seeing Phil like that, on his knees in front of him, eyes shut, expression blissed out, leaves him breathless and dizzy, keeps his head spinning as he comes down Phil's throat almost violently. His grip on the back of Phil's head loosens, but Phil stays put, nose pressed against Clint's belly, tongue strong beneath Clint's shaft, throat swallowing and swallowing around Clint's softening cock, milking the come right out of him. It's too much, too good, and Clint whimpers at the continued contact._ _

__Phil's hands move, at least, loosening their grip on Clint's t-shirt and the inside of his thigh, respectively. They slide around Clint's waist instead, helping to keep him, Clint realizes, even through his fucked out, pleasure-clouded haze. _Damn_ , but Phil is good at this. _ _

__It takes a while, but finally Clint's finger tips stop tingling with overloaded sensation, and he can reach for Phil again, can pull at his collar and his tie, inducing him to stand up, to come closer, to kiss him._ _

__His mouth slides off of Clint's dick with one last, aching suck. While Clint is recovering, shivering a little and blinking spots of light out of his eyes, Phil tucks him back in, and rises slowly. He maintains a few inches of distance for all of maybe five seconds before collapsing against Clint, pressing him tightly against the door again, and tucking his face against Clint's neck._ _

__Clint would've preferred a kiss, but he'll take it, Phil panting against his throat and groaning a little when Clint presses his palm to the front of Phil's pants, rubbing lightly at the come-soaked fabric and his softening cock._ _

__They stand like that for a while, holding each other up; vertical cuddling is not quite up to par with the horizontal version, but Clint's options right now are limited and he's all for having Phil so close that he can almost hear the hammering of his heart._ _

__"So," Clint says, still panting a little. "You're pissed at me."_ _

__"I'm not pissed at you," Phil says, too quickly, and then he sighs, shoulders sagging. "I'm a little pissed at you."_ _

__Clint lets out an almost hysterical burble of laughter. " _Yeah_ you are. Can't say I…" Phil nuzzles against his neck and Clint smiles. "Can't say I mind that much."_ _

__“No?" Phil pulls back to look him in the eye._ _

__"You just practically sucked my brains out through my dick, Agent Coulson." Phil rolls his eyes; whether at Clint's crudeness or the _Agent Coulson_ , Clint's not sure. He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of Phil's pants, and gives him a little tug. "Wasn't exactly an official rebuke, is what I'm saying."_ _

__"This wasn't an official anything, Barton. If you want to talk about official—"_ _

__" _Officially_ ," he says, drawling a little. "Officially, I did my job, to the best of my ability, and you know it."_ _

__"You were off comms for over an hour."_ _

__"I know."_ _

__"They thought you were dead."_ _

__"I know."_ _

__"They called me," Phil says, softly, not meeting Clint's eyes anymore. "They told me..." he shrugs, and looks up. "I did not enjoy getting that call."_ _

__"I'm sorry," Clint says, because he is, and that matters._ _

__Phil smiles at him. Reaches up and strokes at his cheek. "Don't be. You were doing your job," his lips twist into a wry almost-smirk. "To the best of your ability. I'm proud of you."_ _

__"Phil." Clint's not sure if he's being a dick or if he's being honest; sometimes, Phil even manages to be both, and Clint is starting to suspect this is one of those times._ _

__"I am. I am, Clint. I really am so proud of you." And he does look Clint straight in the eye for that, does look honest and serious and like he really means it. He leans into a kiss that Clint welcomes, smiles into, opens his mouth for it._ _

__It's a sweet kiss, and Phil Coulson is a good man; he's done so much for Clint, never asked him for anything, and Clint's given so little in return. So when Phil pulls back again, with his eyes shut and his face calm, Clint has to ask: "Do you want me out of the field?"_ _

__"What?" Phil's eyes spring open. "No. I don't want—I want you..." he wraps his arms around Clint's waist. "I want you wherever the hell you want to be. Just—I worry. That's all."_ _

__"Okay," Clint says, with a nod. Phil nods back. They stay like that for a while, breathing against each other, before it gets a little embarrassing to just be staring at each other, and they break apart. Phil ducks to pick up his jacket, and when he pops back up, he's blushing._ _

__Clint smiles, stays leaning against the door as Phil goes back to his desk and starts to pack up. It's a little early for Phil to be heading home, but Clint gets the feeling he's going with him, so he's not about to argue._ _

__"I worry too, you know?" he says, quiet and cautious._ _

__Phil doesn't look up. "I know."_ _

__"So we've both gotta be more careful, right?"_ _

__"Right," Phil says, a little patronizing, and Clint rolls his eyes._ _

__"Oh, go fuck yourself," he says. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to here? I have seen you do some stupid-ass, reckless shit, Phil. Don't act like…don't act like all you do is sit behind that desk and shuffle paper, _Agent Coulson_."_ _

__Phil walks back over to him; he's obviously holding back laughter and Clint's beginning to feel a little pissed off himself._ _

__"I'm serious, Phil. I don't want to get that call either."_ _

__Phil stops in front of him, close enough to touch, though neither he nor Phil take advantage of that. "Okay," he says, simple, like that's enough, like Clint baring his soul here is an entire non-event. Hell, maybe it is, maybe Phil's used to the people he screws around with developing capital F Feelings, used to developing them himself._ _

__But Clint's not one hundred percent in his element right now; to be honest he's not more than five percent in his element, currently. And Clint's instincts might not always be right, but they're always at least useful, so he gives into them: takes a quick step forward, wraps his arms around Phil, and holds on tight. He presses his face against the soft white shirt Phil's wearing, slides his arms under Phil's jacket and around Phil's back, and feels Phil relax, feels him take a deep breath, as he runs his hands across Clint's chest once again, down to his hips and then up along Clint's spine._ _

__"I love you," Phil says, sighing into Clint's hair. "And we're not going to make promises we can't keep. But I love you, and we're good, and we're both just going to have to try our best, all right?"_ _

__Clint tucks his smile into Phil's shoulder. "Okay," he mumbles, and, for the time being, resolves to let that be enough._ _

**Author's Note:**

> _And you learn to build all your roads on today_   
> _Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans_   
> _And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight._
> 
>  
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>  
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>  
> 
> *sighs* With a thousand apologies to [Jorge Luis Borges.](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/670010/you-learn-by-jorge-luis-borges/)


End file.
